This is a blog about the Bronte Sisters, Charlotte, Emily and Anne. And their father Patrick, their mother Maria and their brother Branwell. About their pets, their friends, the parsonage (their house), Haworth the town in which they lived, the moors they loved so much, the Victorian era in which they lived.

I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.Emily BronteWuthering Heights

donderdag 19 december 2013

Today marks the 165th anniversary of the death of Emily Brontë.

Emily Brontë, by all accounts then and now, died of tuberculosis—the galloping consumption, as it was then called when its progress was rapid. (Letters, 216) And consumption, in the days before antibiotics, was invariably fatal. Many, many people in Victorian England died of it. Some might linger for years. Others were gone within months of the acute onset of the illness. By coddling herself, Emily might have extended her life by a few weeks, or even by months, but she would not have regained her health. Here lies one possible explanation for Emily's steadfast refusal to see the doctors. Doctors were powerless against consumption. Not one single successful course of medical treatment for that disease existed in Emily's day. What could the doctors have done for her? They might have suggested various forms of treatment, but the final result would have been the same.

The disease was so common that Emily Brontë very likely knew this. Her father certainly did. "Anne and I cherish hope as well as we can," Charlotte writes, "... but my father shakes his head and speaks of others of our family once similarly afflicted, for whom he likewise persisted in hoping against hope, and who are now removed where hope and fear fluctuate no more." (Brontës, 572-3)

Charlotte Brontë herself firmly believed that her sister had wanted to survive, regardless of brave words spoken in public about inexorable wills and no coward souls. "It was very terrible," she wrote to her friend Ellen concerning Emily's death. "She was torn conscious, panting, reluctant though resolute out of a happy life." (Letters, 229) In her grief, Charlotte could find only one consolation: that her sister no longer suffered.

... I will not now ask why Emily was torn from us in the fulness of our attachment, rooted up in the prime of her own days, in the promise of her powers – why her existence now lies like a field of green corn trodden down – like a tree in full bearing – struck at the root; I will only say, sweet is rest after labour and calm after tempest, and repeat again and again that Emily knows that now. (Letters, 219) claredunkle

Emily Brontë’s funeral was attended only by family members and servants – and Emily’s beloved little dog, who sat in a church pew during the funeral service, and who would then sit and howl in front of Emily’s empty room for weeks after her death. today-in-literary-history-emily-bronte

To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by thy infinity So surely anchored on The steadfast rock of Immortality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void Since Thou art Being and Breath And what thou art may never be destroyed. (Poems, 183-184)

1 opmerking:

"Anne and I cherish hope as well as we can," Charlotte writes, "... but my father shakes his head and speaks of others of our family once similarly afflicted, for whom he likewise persisted in hoping against hope, and who are now removed where hope and fear fluctuate no more."

Of course Patrick already had a knowledge of the disease that Charlotte and Anne lacked at this time. He had nursed his two eldest daughters, Maria and Elisabeth. though their final days years earlier, when Charlotte was still at school and Anne perhaps too young to understand.

By the time of Anne's death, Charlotte and had acquired the same sad knowledge and understanding as Patrick displayed when Emily became ill.

It's unimaginable what Charlotte and Patrick experienced in those 8 months when one by one , Branwell, Emily and Anne succumbed .

Parsonage

Charlotte Bronte

Presently the door opened, and in came a superannuated mastiff, followed by an old gentleman very like Miss Bronte, who shook hands with us, and then went to call his daughter. A long interval, during which we coaxed the old dog, and looked at a picture of Miss Bronte, by Richmond, the solitary ornament of the room, looking strangely out of place on the bare walls, and at the books on the little shelves, most of them evidently the gift of the authors since Miss Bronte's celebrity. Presently she came in, and welcomed us very kindly, and took me upstairs to take off my bonnet, and herself brought me water and towels. The uncarpeted stone stairs and floors, the old drawers propped on wood, were all scrupulously clean and neat. When we went into the parlour again, we began talking very comfortably, when the door opened and Mr. Bronte looked in; seeing his daughter there, I suppose he thought it was all right, and he retreated to his study on the opposite side of the passage; presently emerging again to bring W---- a country newspaper. This was his last appearance till we went. Miss Bronte spoke with the greatest warmth of Miss Martineau, and of the good she had gained from her. Well! we talked about various things; the character of the people, - about her solitude, etc., till she left the room to help about dinner, I suppose, for she did not return for an age. The old dog had vanished; a fat curly-haired dog honoured us with his company for some time, but finally manifested a wish to get out, so we were left alone. At last she returned, followed by the maid and dinner, which made us all more comfortable; and we had some very pleasant conversation, in the midst of which time passed quicker than we supposed, for at last W---- found that it was half-past three, and we had fourteen or fifteen miles before us. So we hurried off, having obtained from her a promise to pay us a visit in the spring... ------------------- "She cannot see well, and does little beside knitting. The way she weakened her eyesight was this: When she was sixteen or seventeen, she wanted much to draw; and she copied nimini-pimini copper-plate engravings out of annuals, ('stippling,' don't the artists call it?) every little point put in, till at the end of six months she had produced an exquisitely faithful copy of the engraving. She wanted to learn to express her ideas by drawing. After she had tried to draw stories, and not succeeded, she took the better mode of writing; but in so small a hand, that it is almost impossible to decipher what she wrote at this time.

I asked her whether she had ever taken opium, as the description given of its effects in Villette was so exactly like what I had experienced, - vivid and exaggerated presence of objects, of which the outlines were indistinct, or lost in golden mist, etc. She replied, that she had never, to her knowledge, taken a grain of it in any shape, but that she had followed the process she always adopted when she had to describe anything which had not fallen within her own experience; she had thought intently on it for many and many a night before falling to sleep, - wondering what it was like, or how it would be, - till at length, sometimes after the progress of her story had been arrested at this one point for weeks, she wakened up in the morning with all clear before her, as if she had in reality gone through the experience, and then could describe it, word for word, as it had happened. I cannot account for this psychologically; I only am sure that it was so, because she said it. ----------------------She thought much of her duty, and had loftier and clearer notions of it than most people, and held fast to them with more success. It was done, it seems to me, with much more difficulty than people have of stronger nerves, and better fortunes. All her life was but labour and pain; and she never threw down the burden for the sake of present pleasure. I don't know what use you can make of all I have said. I have written it with the strong desire to obtain appreciation for her. Yet, what does it matter? She herself appealed to the world's judgement for her use of some of the faculties she had, - not the best, - but still the only ones she could turn to strangers' benefit. They heartily, greedily enjoyed the fruits of her labours, and then found out she was much to be blamed for possessing such faculties. Why ask for a judgement on her from such a world?" elizabeth gaskell/charlotte bronte

Poem: No coward soul is mine

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the worlds storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heavens glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.O God within my breast.
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life -- that in me has rest,
As I -- Undying Life -- have power in Thee!Vain are the thousand creeds That move mens hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast Rock of immortality.

Family tree

Grandparents - paternalHugh Brunty was born 1755 and died circa 1808. He married Eleanor McClory, known as Alice in 1776.

Grandparents - maternalThomas Branwell (born 1746 died 5th April 1808) was married in 1768 to Anne Carne (baptised 27th April 1744 and died 19th December 1809).

ParentsFather was Patrick Bronte, the eldest of 10 children born to Hugh Brunty and Eleanor (Alice) McClory. He was born 17th March 1777 and died on 7th June 1861. Mother was Maria Branwell, who was born on 15th April 1783 and died on 15th September 1821.

Maria had a sister, Elizabeth who was known as Aunt Branwell. She was born in 1776 and died on 29th October 1842.

Patrick Bronte married Maria Branwell on 29th December 1812.

The Bronte ChildrenPatrick and Maria Bronte had six children.The first child was Maria, who was born in 1814 and died on 6th June 1825.The second daughter, Elizabeth was born on 8th February 1815 and died shortly after Maria on 15th June 1825. Charlotte was the third daughter, born on 21st April 1816.

Charlotte married Arthur Bell Nicholls (born 1818) on 29th June 1854. Charlotte died on 31st March 1855. Arthur lived until 2nd December 1906.

The first and only son born to Patrick and Maria was Patrick Branwell, who was born on 26th June 1817 and died on 24th September 1848.

Emily Jane, the fourth daughter was born on 30th July 1818 and died on 19th December 1848.

The sixth and last child was Anne, born on 17th January 1820 who died on 28th May 1849.

Aanbevolen post

National Portrait Gallery There are two official portraits of the Bronte Sisters. Both painted by their brother Branwell Bront...

Question......

If you have information about the Bronte Sisters, please let me know. Maybe you know an article in a newspaper, a book or a website or something else. I am also interested in Haworth.Old cards, maps, photographes.

If you have a weblog, or you know one, with information and/or pictures about Yorkshire, Haworth, the Haworth parsonage, the Brontes, and so on, please, will you let me know?

If you have a subject concerning the Brontes and you want to be a guest blogger, please let me know mefta001@gmail.com

Emily in her diary: 'Anne and I have been peeling apples for Charlotte to make an apple pudding . . . Charlotte said she made puddings perfectly, and she was of a quick but limited intellect. Taby said just now "come Anne pillopuate" (i.e. peel a potato). Aunt has come into the kitchen just now and said "Where are your feet Anne?". Anne answered "On the floor Aunt". . . '

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Emily

"My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her; - out of a sullen hollow in a livid hill-side, her mind could make an Eden. She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the least and best-loved was - liberty.

There is a spot, 'mid barren hills,where winter howls, and driving rain;But, if the dreary tempest chills,There is a light that warms again.

The house is old, the trees are bare,Moonless above bends twilight's dome;But what on earth is half so dear— So longed for—as the hearth of home?

Horoscopes of Emily and Charlotte

I accidentally lighted on a manuscript volume of verse in my sister Emily’s handwriting. Of course, I was not surprised knowing that she could and did write verses. I had a deep conviction that they were not common effusions; not at all like the poetry women generally write. To my ear they had a music, wild, melancholy, elevating. (Currer Bell, “Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell,” 19 September 1850)

I know of no woman who ever lived who wrote such poetry before. Condensed energy, clearness, finish—strange, strong pathos are their characteristics; utterly different from the usual diffusiveness; the laboured yet most feeble wordiness, which dilutes the writing of even the most popular poetesses. That is my
deliberate and quite impartial opinion. Of its startling excellence I am deeply convinced and have been from the first moment. The pieces are short but they are very genuine; they stirred the heart like the sound of a trumpet when I read them alone and in secret.…

It took hours to reconcile her to the discovery I had made and days to persuade her that such poems merited publication. But I knew that a mind like hers could not be without some spark of honourable ambition and refused to be discouraged in my attempt to fan the flame. By dint of entreaty and reason, I at last wrung out
a reluctant consent. (Letter to Mr. Williams, 1845)
emily-bronte

On 04-04-1855 Charlotte Bronte was buried in the family vault at Haworth Parish Church. On Easter Sunday, 1st April, 1855, many people w...

Why do I keep this weblog?

As a young girl I read Jane Eyre. I loved it. From that moment I wanted to know everything about the Bronte Sisters, their father Patrick, their brother Branwell, Tabby the housekeeper, Keeper and Flossy, two of the many pets they had. Much is known about their lives. Charlotte Bronte wrote many letters. And since just after her death was a biography written by Elizabeth Gaskell, a friend of Charlotte. They lived in Haworth in Great Britain. Their house is now the Bronte Parsonage Museum. When they were children they wrote stories in tiny books, which you can view in the museum. Branwell and Charlotte created "Angria" and Anne and Emily "Gondal". Emily wrote beautiful poetry. No coward soul is mine No trembler in the world's troubles storm-sphere: I see Heavens Glory shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.On the internet, in books and movies is so much information that I was overwhelmed, but now Blogger, offers me the opportunity on this blog to create order..